


Tickletober Day 13 - Wake up!

by august_anon



Series: Tickletober 2020 [13]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bonding, Family Bonding, Gen, Light Angst, Memory Loss, Tickling, ticklish!dipper, ticklish!mabel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/august_anon/pseuds/august_anon
Summary: Stan may have difficulty recalling anything now, but at least he knows the kids will be a constant.Warning: This is a tickle fic!!
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Tickletober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949143
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Tickletober Day 13 - Wake up!

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this is the very first fic I wrote when prepping for tickletober and that's why it's so plot-heavy lol. It's also one of my favorite fics I've written for tickletober, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, sorry for the bit of angst lol

Stan sat at the kitchen table, staring down at Mabel’s scrapbook and flipping through pages. He hadn’t been able to stop since she’d given it to him a few days ago, after they all realized how much it had started helping his memory.

The thing was, Stan couldn’t remember much beyond this past summer, and even that was fractured at best. Ford told him stories, of course. Their mom, their dad, their brother. He’d told Stan about the  _ Stan ‘O War _ , about how they’d always been there for each other, about shenanigans the two of them had gotten into. Stories from Ford’s perspective could only do so much, though. And Stan wasn’t as clueless as Ford thought he was, he could clearly see that Ford was holding a lot back.

Something had happened between the two of them. Possibly multiple somethings. And not  _ good _ somethings, seeing as Ford wouldn’t crack.

It was disorienting and uncomfortable, to have so much of his life blank. He forgot names, faces, places. He had lapses, even with memories they thought he’d recovered permanently. Sometimes, on bad nights, Stan forgot who he was entirely again, and where he was, and why this strange man that looked like him was trying to tell him to calm down.

He didn’t know  _ why _ he gave it all up. Stan’s family said,  _ repeatedly _ , that what he did saved them,  _ all _ of them. Even people he didn’t know or couldn’t remember. Stan wished that it brought him peace, knowing that, but it never did. He did know, though, that if it came down to it, he would probably make the same choice again in a heartbeat.

No one was hurting those kids, or his brother, ever again. Not if he could help it.

“Stanley?” Someone called from nearby. Stan got the notion that it wasn’t the first time they’d tried to get his attention.

He glanced up, seeing Ford in the doorway to the kitchen. He chuckled, slipping into a nonchalant persona that felt comfortably familiar, even if he hardly remembered it.

“Sorry, lost in thought, I guess,” he said, knocking a fist against his forehead. “Didja need something?”

Ford’s smile was tight around his eyes, like he knew exactly what Stan had been lost in thought about. “No, not at all.”

An awkward silence spread through the room again and an anxious feeling rose up in Stan’s chest. Was he supposed to be remembering something? Was this another routine he forgot, and now he was messing up the steps?

“Why don’t you go wake the kids?” Ford offered, cutting through the silence. “I can make us all breakfast. It’s starting to get late, anyway.”

Stan snorted. “Eight thirty is hardly  _ late _ , Poindexter,” he said, but he was already rising from the table even as he said it, closing the scrapbook as he went.

Sure, the kids would probably be a bit grumpy. He would too, being woken up so early during a day off, especially in  _ summer _ , but it gave Stan a task. Something to do that would (hopefully) be hard to mess up, memory or not. 

So Stan dragged himself up the stairs to the attic and quietly pushed open the door to the kids’ room. He sighed when he saw the two of them curled up together in Dipper’s bed. He wasn’t surprised that they were having nightmares. He couldn’t fall asleep either, most nights, but instead of a face or voice haunting him, he had no name to put to his tormentor. Stan didn’t know if that made it easier or harder.

He heard them shuffling around at night when he couldn’t sleep, whispers carrying down through the old wooden house. Never enough for the words to travel, though, just the tone: angry, scared, tired, resigned. These kids acted far too old for their age.

Stan was rather tempted to just leave them and let them sleep. They clearly weren’t sleeping any better than him or Ford, the dark bruises under their eyes only accentuated by the shadows from the window. Really, Stan doubted anyone had been sleeping well, ever since what the town had dubbed “Weirdmaggedon.”

Maybe the kids would benefit from some time outside their realms of nightmares. He could already see Mabel’s face scrunching up in fear.

But how did he wake them? How did one wake an almost-teenager? Shake them? Poke them until they got annoyed enough to open their eyes? Talk really loud until it drew them out of dreamland? None of that seemed like it would lead to very happy children.

Stan sighed again and quietly entered the room, moving to stand next to the bed. Mabel made a distressed sound in her sleep and Stan couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic hum, tucking some of her tangled hair behind her ear. Mabel scrunched up her shoulder weird and a smile briefly tugged at her lips.

Now there was an idea.

Stan may not have had much memory left, but he knew a ticklish kid when he saw them. It felt a little rude to just tickle them  _ right _ awake, though. Stan figured that would be pretty startling, while coming out of a nightmare. Instead he gently grabbed each of their shoulders and carefully shook them.

“Kids,” Stan said, voice low but not quite a whisper. “Kids, it’s time to wake up.”

Mabel’s face scrunched up, this time in annoyance and not fear. “Grunkle Stan, no,” she moaned, slurring her words in her half-asleep state and rolling over to bury her face in a pillow.

“Too early,” Dipper grumbled, and pulled the blanket over both of their heads.

Stan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, maybe it is a bit early for grumpy pre-teens. But you know who it’s not too early for?”

Twins gasps sounded from under the blanket, and Stan got the distinct feeling that they’d gone through this song and dance before. Well, at least it was reassuring that his personality didn’t seem to have changed much, despite the gaps in memory.

“Grunkle Stan, wait!” Mabel cried, and it already sounded like she was laughing.

“No, no!” Dipper yelled, but his voice was giddy and excited.

“There’s no Grunkle Stan, here,” Stan growled, ripping the blanket off the two of them. “There’s only… the  _ Tickle Monster _ !”

Dipper and Mabel shrieked as Stan lunged.

Even if Stan himself didn’t remember, it seemed like his fingers did. One hand clawed into Dipper’s stomach, making him squawk and cackle, while the other quickly buried itself up under Mabel’s arm, making her shriek and squeal. Stan couldn’t help but laugh along with the two of them, their laughter being painfully contagious.

“Hey,” Stan said, a goofy grin spreading across his lips. “Did you know, my ex-wife still misses me--”

Dipper and Mabel both groaned through their laughter.

“But her aim is getting better!”

Stan laughed, and he was certain that if the kids weren’t laughing too hard to talk, they would be making the usual assortment of annoyed comments. 

“Wow, kids, I know I’m funny, but I didn’t know my jokes were  _ that _ good.”

Mabel’s legs had started kicking, trying to propel her away from the tickling fingers, while Dipper seemed to curl in on himself as he snorted and cackled. It was an interesting dichotomy, with them being twins, and reminded Stan a lot of him and Ford when they were younger--

Well well, looks like goofing off did some good for Stan, after all.

But Stan decided that he had plenty of time to focus on that, later. For now, he needed to finish these kids off and get them down to breakfast. Preferably soon, because the realization that Ford could not cook and would likely burn the Shack down had also just hit him.

Stan leaned down, deciding to do his big finish on Dipper first. He pushed Dipper’s legs back down and pulled up his sleep shirt just enough to see his belly. Then, he took a deep breath and blew the biggest raspberry he could in the center of Dipper’s stomach, making sure to shake his head and rub his stubble in on it, and almost breaking to laugh at the near-scream that left Dipper’s lips. He blew a handful of smaller raspberries in a few random places before pulling back and letting Dipper breathe.

Turning toward Mabel, she had already tilted her head back like she knew what to expect. And now that he thought about it, Stan did seem to be getting a weird sense of deja-vu, so maybe this had been routine, before. Stan darted forward to blow a big raspberry against the side of her neck, hoping he didn’t go deaf from her shrill laughter right next to his ear, and blew a handful of smaller raspberries as he moved to the other side of it. There, he blew one last big raspberry before pulling back.

Stan sat on the edge of the bed as the kids caught their breath. They recovered faster than he expected, and Stan suddenly found himself tackled backwards to the bed, the kids laughing as they piled on top of him. Stan laughed, too.

“Good morning, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel yelled, far too loudly for having been asleep just moments before.

“Good morning!” Dipper echoed at a much lower volume.

“Come on,” he said. “We’d better get down to the kitchen before Ford blows the whole place up. I’m sure you two could convince him to step away from the stove long enough for me to make something.”

Dipper and Mabel both gave him incredibly mischievous looks before rushing out of the room without another word. Stan huffed out a breath, watching them go. Then, he quickly rose to follow them. Either his brother was about to get absolutely  _ wrecked _ by two 12-year-olds, or those kids were about to have quite the round two (six fingers did wonders for tickling skills, based on what was coming back to Stan) and he didn’t want to miss a moment of either scenario.

After all, he knew more than anyone, now, that the memories he made with his family were beyond precious.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm all caught up, now, and hopefully I can stay that way! See you guys tomorrow for "light tickles," I've got a Star Trek fic lined up for everyone! (if everything goes according to plan and I'm not late again lol). You can find me on tumblr at august-anon!


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